The Cloud Tower Travelogue
by WinxAelfscine
Summary: Mansha and her brother Gareth visit Cloud Tower to learn about The Trix and the other Witches.
1. Day One & Introduction

Mansha's Cloud Tower Travelogue

••• Day One •••

Something that Gareth is fond of saying about the Witches is, "All we really know about the Witches comes from Faerie tales. After all, from whose viewpoint is the_ Winx Club _written?" With that in mind, I thought that the best way to learn about the Witches then is to live among them for a week. So we packed our bags, hopped the tranportus to the Planet of Alfea and emerge at the gates of Cloud Tower. We expected resistance but were surprised when the Witches invited us graciously and eagerly in. We were not allowed to wander around on our own though. You can find yourself face-to-face with some pretty nasty things at Cloud Tower if you don't know your who's about's and where's about's so we were assigned two Cat-Witch Guards, the angora Matchka and the blue-point Siamese Mieze, to escort and guide us. During our seven-day stay we got up close and personal with many of the Witches and the exchange of information was an eye-opening experience for both sides. I did my best to be the objective observer and to record everything that went on as carefully and truthfully as possible. Here then, are the fruits of my observations presented to you as The Cloud Tower Travelogue.

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Disclaimer:

I do not own the _Winx Club _which is the creation of Sr. Iginio Straffi to whom I give full recognition. I have, however, used what he as created as a foundation for my fan fiction in the hope that without breaking with the canon of the _Winx Club, _I have created a work that will be enjoyed by all fans of the_ Winx Club_ yet seen through different eyes.

-- WinxÆlfscine


	2. The Angry Witch

••• Day Two •••

It is the end of the school day and time for the evening meal. My brother Gareth and I are escorted to the Cloud Tower cafeteria once more by our felinoid guides Mieze and Matchka and accompanied also by M'Trika and several other Witches who have decided to sit to dine with us at one long table. M'Trika, because she is the most senior Witch of our group, sits at the head of the table. On her right is Mieze our blue-point guide, myself, Gareth, the angora Matchka who is our second guide then all the other Witches in our group according to rank.

I promise myself that tonight I will not make a spectacle of myself like I had the first night when I balked at the largely insect based diet that the Witches seem to enjoy. Last night's watching Gareth spooning out tarantula innards and eating them with gusto while I turned seven shades of green and nearly gag became the source of much laughter throughout Cloud Tower. Tonight I can almost feel them waiting in anticipation upon what items on the menu will shock me tonight. As it turns out, tonight is the night for black scorpion. Scorpion, which I can relate closely enough to lobster that I do like, sounds like something I can eat without my stomach wanting to heave. The avocado and key lime sauce that accompanied it also promises to be delicious. So, scorpion it is to be.

I get my meal to the table and am just able to get the first morsel of scorpion claw meat into my mouth when I feel a presence behind me and strand of long hair brushing against my arm.

"Are you enjoying your meal?" asks a mezzo voice in slightly accented English.

"What?" I ask, struggling to swallow what I have in my mouth and surprised at the same time to hear English.

"Are you enjoying your meal?" asks the voice again but this time in Alfean Standard and loud enough for the whole cafeteria to hear.

I turn around to face the speaker who is a slender woman about a head taller than I dressed completely in black leather with a flowing cape and with her long blue-white hair tied up in a high ponytail. Behind her are her two companions. One has brown and amber hair and wears square-cut glasses while the other is somewhat smaller and sports a hairdo that resembles a thundercloud with streaks of lightning on either side.

"Why, yes, I am," I reply courteously. "This is the first time I have had scorpion and..."

"Well, that's good," she interjects sweetly, "because that's my dinner you're eating on my private plate!" she snarls.

By this time, all the eyes in the cafeteria are on me and the blue-white haired Witch in black. Gareth begins to stand up to interpose between me and the angry Witch. But before he can move, Matchka places her hand-paw firmly on his shoulder and with her claws partly extended pushes him back into his seat shaking "No" with her furry head.

"I'm sorry," I begin to apologise but she cuts me off with a wave of her hand.

"Oh, listen to this, Sisters," she jeers, "the little pixie's sorry!"

"Listen here, pixie," drones the blue-white haired Witch menacingly, "you're going to be a lot more than just sorry when...."

As she speaks, I catch the feral glow building in the eyes of her companions like those of hyenas waiting for the lioness to make her kill so they can rush in and grab their share.

Suddenly, and before she can say a word more, I am up on my feet and locking her eyes with mine and with all the anger and cold menace I can summon into my voice I growl back at her. "Look, Icy, you may think that you are the queen wasp of this Witches' wasp nest and I may be a small, non-magical being but I can still knock you one that will see you land with your head in the ground on the Emerald Island on Terra. You want a fight? Well, come on then! Try one of your Witch's shenanigans and I'll give you more than just a little scorpion on your precious plate to chew on, lady." And with that I shake my fist and take a mock swing at her jaw.

"Hey now, Little One!" laughs Icy, dropping all pretense of being angry as she roughs my red hair with her spike-nailed fingers. "I just might get to like you. You have spirit. You may look like a weakling pixie but you have the nerve and backbone of a Witch. Even your name, Mansha, belongs to a Witch. Are you sure you're not one of us, Little Sister?"

"Quite sure," I reply, still unsure of Icy's intentions.

"Hmm!" Icy muses with her hands on her hips. "Maybe you should check with your mama. She may have a surprise for you."

"I can't. She's dead," I reply angrily.

"Oh," quips Icy un-apologetically, "then that's all the more reason to try to commune with her."


	3. Romance in the Air

With that, Icy turns around and walks smack into Gareth who, despite Matchka's objection, got up to stand directly behind her. This time, it is she who has to look up into my brother's broad, gently smiling face with its vivid blue eyes and sandy red hair.

"Hello," he rumbles with his deep, bass voice and smiles even more gently at her.

"Humph!" snorts Icy, giving my brother a searing once-over with her cold, ice-blue eyes. "And you must be Gareth this little Witch's brother who thinks he can win me over with love poems, flowers, chocolates and bright, shiny baubles," she mocks, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Why are you looking to a Witch to be your soul mate, Gareth? Hasn't anyone told you that Witches make terrible girlfriends? Why shouldn't I just kill you here and now? I could, you know. You're a male on Witches' turf - my turf where there is none here who will stop me."

"I believe it can be different between us," replies my brother quietly but firmly. "I trust you will not harm or try to kill me."

"You trust?" hisses Icy like a snake coiled ready to strike. "You trust that I will not harm or try to kill you? Then prove it!" she challenges and her mezzo voice drops to dangerous, low registers.

The air turns electric as the Witches and I look on as Gareth kneels slightly and lifts his chin so his exposed neck is level with and almost touching Icy's delicate nose.

"Take," he whispers to her.

I watch Matchka's eyes go nearly frantic with panic and the other Witches and even Icy's comrades clench their fists with excitement as Icy's fingers with their long, diamond hard and black lacquered nails caress the length of my brother's neck. Then, suddenly, in a blur her index finger slices across his neck making only the slightest of nicks. With her delicate pink tongue, Icy licks up the tiny rivulet of blood oozing from the wound she has created then licks up his neck then, on reaching the tip of his chin, she latches on with her wickedly sharp teeth with not enough pressure to break the skin but enough to make my brother well aware of where she is. As Icy performs her ritual, Gareth remains stark still and barely breathing. Finally, she disengages herself from his chin, and grasping it between her thumb and forefinger brings it down until his eyes are level with hers. "You are either the ultimate of fools, the bravest man I've ever met or someone who knows more about Witches than he has a right to," exclaims Icy in whispered awe. "Who are you?"

"I am..." says Gareth, getting to his feet. "I am the one who loves you dearly. I am the one who can see that there is yet good left in you. I am the one who is willing to risk all to bring you back to The Light, Ishandra, My Beloved."

At the sound of her birth name, Icy's eyes go wide and her jaw drops. At this moment, Gareth sweeps her up and kisses her upon her open mouth tilting her back in his arms until her tassel of hair and her cape touch the floor. Then, as he sets her back on her feet, Icy wraps her arms around his neck and leaning into him and with one leg raised kisses him passionately back as he had kissed her. But then rebellion rises up again and she struggles to break free of his embrace.

"No!" she screams angrily at him. "No!" she screams again, beating her fists against his chest. "You can't have me! Not as your girl and never as your soul mate or your consort or your Child of The Light."

"Icy, Isha," whispers my brother as he places a finger lightly against her lips. "Hush! Be still, My Beloved."

This time, when Gareth reaches for her she comes willingly to his arms and as he gently rocks her she lifts up her head to look into his face. "You know, I would be lying if I said that I did not like your love poems to me and those flowers and the chocolate and even those other thoughtful little gifts you have been showering on me," she murmurs. "Nor have I ever been treated by anyone with any sort of kindness or respect other than out of fear - especially not by a man. You have made me feel more like I am every inch a woman than any man ever has. You know me better than anyone has before - and how did you find out my real name? No matter, it still remains that I will never be 'yours'. I am and always will be a my own woman and a Witch. I will never surrender myself to you nor will you or any other man ever possess me. But..." she continues with almost a purr, "... but if you continue to please me and if you are a really, really good boy then I might consider," and then putting her lips near his ear hisses something sounding like a cat in attack mode. It had to be that she spoke in some language that only Witches understand because there was a communal gasp throughout the cafeteria and her companions, if they were surprised by what went on before, now stood there wide-eyed and open-mouthed in shock and utter disbelief.

"Hmm?" says Icy to Gareth with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. She signals her companions to follow and, with her long tassel of hair swaying in counterpoint to the seductive movement of her hips, heads out the doors.

Not a breath was heard as the doors shut behind The Trix. The silence goes on for a minute before Matchka gets up, escorts Gareth back and roughly pushes him into his seat all the while her feline ears are plated against her skull, her tail is slapping the floor and the blue fire of her eyes fixes on the doors through which The Trix have just departed. If she has said anything to him it is lost in the uproar of clapping, whistling and table thumping that erupts throughout the cafeteria.


	4. The Brave Tribeswoman

"Well done, Mansha!" exclaims M'Trika clasping my forearm in a sisterly fashion. "But how did you know to stand up to Icy like that?"

"Yes, how?" asks Mieze with her eyes full of wonder and her ears canted to catch every word. "I was expecting see you totally thrashed. Weren't you afraid?"

"Yes, I was afraid but I have seen this before on Terra in a country called Africa," I explain to her and the other Witches. "There is a tribe of people there where the men never take wives from their own tribe but always from one of the five neighbouring tribes. The men have to be fluent in five very different languages because they never know from which tribe their future wives may come."

"That's interesting," remarks M'Trika as other Witches crowded around to listen. "These tribes must be very small."

"Yes," I continue, "and this has to be done so the bloodlines don't go bad. But anyway, no matter from which tribe a man takes his wife, the women of his tribe always arrange for the newcomer to be challenged. Most often it is the biggest, meanest woman in the tribe like the tribal queen's bodyguard who challenges her. So, during the challenge, the other women of the tribe watch the newcomer's reactions and judge her accordingly. If she backs down or is fearful then her status in the tribe diminishes, however, if she stands up to the challenge her status increases. In one case, I saw a petite woman get knock down five times by the queen's bodyguard but even though she was bruised and bleeding she got back up on her feet and faced her challenger again and again and again. Finally, the queen stepped in and broke it up but the newcomer's bravery earned her a place beside the queen herself. Had she not stood up to the challenge, the women of the tribe would see her as weak. She would have been bullied by all the other women and forced to do all the most disagreeable tasks for the whole tribe."

"Your little newcomer sounds very brave as you are," breaks in one of the Witches. "And this is how you knew to stand up to Icy?"

"Yes, exactly," I reply to her.

There is a pause and as if inspired by my account to speak, Vulpa, a shy, petite Fox-morph Witch with a bushy tail suddenly says, "Did anyone notice Icy's aura as she left?"

"No," say all the Witches.

"What did you see, Vulpa?" asks M'Trika.

"Well," says Vulpa shyly but excitedly, "her main aura is still white and ice-blue but its edge is no longer jet - it's crimson!"

"Icy's edge has gone crimson!" goes the word throughout the cafeteria.

"Crimson?" ask other voices.

"Yes," replies yet another Witch voice. "Vulpa saw it as she left with Darcy and Stormy."

"I can't believe this of Icy," says someone standing behind me, "but if Vulpa says so it must be so. She's our best reader of aurae."

"Are you sure of this, Vulpa?" asks M'Trika seriously. "You should have spoken up sooner."

"Yes, Lady M'Trika," replies Vulpa, turning shy once again. "Icy can lie all she wants but her aura speaks only the truth. And yes again, I'm sure of it."

"What is Vulpa so sure of?" I ask M'Trika.

"Vulpa says that Icy's aura shows that she has fallen in love," replies M'Trika.

"Well, it's about time someone began to thaw that ice block in Icy's chest she dares to call a heart," states the silver-furred, yellow-eyed Lupa. "I thought the day would never come."

Everyone seems excited about the news except for Matchka who looks up at Gareth with sad, wistful eyes. She reaches into a pouch on her belt and hands him three pieces of what looks like chocolate candy.

"Here," she says to him with a catch in her voice, "you are going to need this tonight."

"What is this for?" asks Gareth of Matchka puzzled.

"It is something to help you stay awake tonight and to give you strength and stamina," whispers Matchka softly and caresses his arm with her furry hand-paw as Vulpa regards her curiously and then suddenly puts a hand-paw to her mouth.

"Why would I want to stay awake tonight?" asks Gareth, scratching his head.

"Oh, come on, Gareth!" laughs Lupa. "For someone who has just swept Icy off her feet and seems to know so much about Witches, you are acting pretty clueless," and all the Witches around the table begin to blush and giggle and Gareth's cheeks flush red too. "You can expect a visit from Icy to your chamber tonight."

"But I was locked in my chamber last night," protests Gareth. "How's she to get in?"

"Oh, locked doors don't stop Icy," laughs Lupa with a bright glint in her yellow eyes.

"You will want food and Icy will be expecting to be served her favourite beverage, Gareth," says Matchka. "I'll go fetch it from the kitchen for you."

"What is Icy's favourite beverage?" I ask Matchka as she gets up from the table.

"Ice wine," Matchka replies as she heads off.

Meanwhile, while Matchka is gone to complete her task, Vulpa and M'Trika are whispering together. M'Trika's head is shaking a constant "No" during the whispering while Vulpa's keeps nodding "Yes". Finally, M'Trika smacks her forehead with her hand and heaves a long sigh.


	5. Lupa & The Blue Witch

••• Day Three •••

The morning of the third day sees me yawning at the breakfast table after being up for several hours recording the events of the day before. Gareth does not seem to be much better off after his all night adventure with Icy.

One parting gift from M'Trika to us both before retiring that night was the ability to speak and understand Witchspeak. Alfean Standard, which we both had been taught, is the_ lingua franca_ spoken among Faeries and Witches and other beings who call the planet Alfea home but it is a language pared down to its essentials and its grammar simplified. It is a language designed for trade, barter and commerce rather than for philosophical discussion.

"In Alfean Standard," one Witch explained, "one can 'get the idea across' but in Witchspeak one makes eloquent poetry."

The strange thing is even after M'Trika spells me I continue to hear English in my head and English words seem to form in my head when others speak Witchspeak to me. But I can feel my mouth and tongue doing contortions as I scream, mew, hiss and yowl in Witchspeak. I take it as a sign of trust I have gained among the Witches that they would allow me to have knowledge of their language. Several remark about how well I speak it and my seemingly natural ability in Witchspeak. I jokingly ask Lupa how Gareth is doing with his newly acquired language.

"Well," laughs Lupa, "first of all, it is strange to hear a guy speaking Witchspeak. He speaks well but he has his unique way with it. It's kind of cute," she adds with a wolfish grin and a playful poke in my ribs.

"Oh, you!" I tell her in my new language and poke her back and then we both laugh.

I find myself attached to the silver-furred Lupa. Her happy, joking and playful manner and open frankness are not what I had expected from a Witch. My acquisition of Witchspeak seems to have pushed the door between us from merely ajar to wide open. More often when it is not my brother beside me it is Lupa and the two of us are pushing and shoving and otherwise cutting up and driving our two feline guides crazy. Finally, Mieze has enough of our antics and grabbing Lupa by the scruff of her neck and me by the shoulder she shakes us like naughty kittens telling us to behave. We are quiet and behave for about two minutes then Lupa whispers loudly enough to me that everyone can hear.

"Have you ever noticed the funny way Mieze's whiskers bob up and down when she's angry?" and then we both start howling with laughter as do the other Witches tagging along with us. Mieze then looks to my brother, who is walking beside Matchka, for help but he just smiles largely and shrugs and earns from her such a dirty look that even Matchka is in stitches laughing.

Sometime during my visit a true bond forms between Lupa and me. I don't know exactly when it was but I suddenly find myself not looking at her as a Witch but as my friend. I know that Lupa thinks the same of me when I realize she is no longer addressing me by the formal "My Lady" but by the familiar "My Sister".

Today, there are new faces at our table. Some I have seen at the classes Gareth and I are allowed to monitor but some are complete strangers. There is a particularly attractive young Witch sitting across from me. She is tall and slender with a pixie face, a typical Witch's aquiline nose somehow refined and in harmony with her face and long blue hair with light blue highlights. But her eyes! Those blue eyes so full of pain and hurt and untold suffering will haunt me forever. She seldom speaks but her deep, throaty voice reminds me of someone and my mind is struggling to recall whom when Icy shows up and insinuates herself at our table between my brother and me.


	6. Catfight

I have so many questions I want to ask this powerful Witch but a voice inside me tells me that this is not the time. I look at her in her skin-tight black leather outfit with the cape and stiletto boots and can't believe that this is the same Icy who my brother said came to him and spent the night with him, who broke down in his arms and wept for hours and who begged him to hold her and rock her in his arms like a terrified child seeking comfort after awakening from a horrible nightmare. The Icy now seated beside me is a creature of pure evil who oozes malice with every breath she takes and who gloats like a huntress who has just bagged herself a huge lion. The table is hushed as Icy eats using one hand while the other holds my brother's. Once and a while she leans over to whisper something to him and he whispers back in a low rumble. She gets up as if to leave, tilts my brother's head back and kisses his forehead.

"I will see you tonight," she says in a low voice.

"I'll be expecting you, Isha-ti," replies Gareth, calling her by a variant of her real name which is Ishandra.

"Oh, clever, Gareth," breathes Icy, "but how many times must I remind you that I am not 'your woman'? I have, nevertheless, a little gift for you before leaving."

Icy performs a legerdemain producing a small silver box which she presents to him.

"What is this?" Gareth asks her.

"Open it and find out," she encourages him.

Gareth is about to oblige when Icy catches Matchka's disapproving look.

"Awww, what's the matter, Matchka?" sneers Icy in Witchspeak. "Is the kitty-cat upset because I stole her boy-toy? Well get used to it. I've marked him. He's mine." Looking around the table she adds, "And you others keep your hands off him too." Then turning again to Matchka snarls, "Got it, sister?"

Barely has Icy uttered those words when ten scythe-like claws launched by several hundred pounds of infuriated feline steel muscles and sinews come flying for her snow white throat. In a flash, M'Trika is between them with her staff glowing bright yellow. Suddenly, Matchka is body surfing across the floor slamming heavily into a pillar. With her staff still glowing, M'Trika locks eyes with Icy.

"Get-out!" she orders Icy, using the tip of her glowing staff to point out the exit.

Icy remains only long enough to hiss something nasty at M'Trika and make a rude gesture in her face with one hand. The other hand is occupied trying to stem the flow of blood dripping off her chin onto her clothes and the floor from an ugly gash across her nose that Matchka scored before M'Trika took her down. Icy turns and heads none too gracefully out the door. Gareth gets up to follow Icy. Matchka, however, has the same idea but M'Trika confronts her with her glowing staff preventing Matchka from taking after Icy and effectively preventing Gareth from doing the same. Matchka is yowling at M'Trika in yet another Witch language I do not understand but M'Trika is speaking clearly in Witchspeak and I strain to hear the dialogue between them.

"No, you can't go after her.... I don't care what she said I'm telling you to leave her alone.... Well, you set yourself up for it, didn't you? You knew that Icy has marked him but you had to go and meddle.... You were supposed to be guarding and guiding them not going on a private mission to collect a new boy-toy.... Matchka be reasonable!" M'Trika shouts.

But the huge angora Cat-Witch is fuming and is in anything but reasoning mood. M'Trika looks cool and calm but her on-guard stance and the position of her staff shows that she is well aware of how deadly-dangerous Matchka is when crossed. Matchka attempts several times to get around M'Trika and out the door but each time M'Trika moves even faster with her staff to block her. Furious, Matchka takes a swipe at M'Trika with her claws extended that comes within a hair's breadth of raking M'Trika's cheek. M'Trika clenches her teeth and the glow of her staff changes from bright yellow to pulsing, malignant green.

A scream splits the air but this time it is Mieze the other Cat-Witch guard who is on her feet snarling with her fur on end and waving in my direction with her arms and her claws extended. I'm sitting frozen to my seat not knowing what to do. I feel a tug on my arm and turn to look into Lupa's frightened eyes.

"She's not attacking you," yells Lupa urgently while tugging even harder on my arm. "She's saying to duck for cover. Those two there are about to mix it."

I look around and see everyone scrambling for cover behind pillars, overturned tables and anything else that offers a modicum of protection.

Crouching behind an overturned table and with Gareth and Lupa beside me, I peek over the edge to see what the two Witches are doing.

Matchka and M'Trika are at a stand-off. Matchka is still in a dangerously angry mood but, somehow, some self-preservation instinct kicks in at the sight of M'Trika's green glowing staff. Matchka slowly backs off and with effort retracts her claws.

"Good!" says M'Trika. "Are you ready to think with your head now instead of with your hormones?"

Matchka makes an ominous growling sound from deep in her throat but nonetheless nods her head in affirmation.

"That's better," continues M'Trika in the one-sided conversation, "but you need to go settle down.... I don't care how, Matchka. Go to the gym and beat up on a punching bag. Stick Icy's picture on it if it helps but you just leave her alone.... Tough! Do you think Icy is soon going to forgive or forget what you just did to her? .... Yes? Well, maybe then next time I'll just leave you to Icy's tender mercies instead of saving your furry butt.... Ok, do that but don't come down until you can control yourself. I'm disappointed in you, Matchka," concludes M'Trika.

Matchka turns heading for the far wall as M'Trika powers down her staff but she is not fast enough to escape a resounding smack to her backside as M'Trika next uses it on her retreating buttocks. Matchka yowls, rushes to the far wall then crouching down leaps several metres straight up to a high, wide window ledge where she curls up catlike and glowers out the window.


	7. Gareth & Icy Love Story

M'Trika returns her staff to a walking position and heads towards our table which is already righted and the chairs returned. The cafeteria staff is busy clearing away the mess of broken dishes and food that hit the floor during the scramble for cover as well as the trail of Icy's blood from near our table all the way to the door. Gareth makes to head for the door but Mieze grabs his arm in a vice-like grip and turns him around.

"Where do you think you're going?" Mieze asks him.

"Icy's hurt," replies my brother with deep concern in his voice, "I have to go find her and see if she needs help. Let me go to her, Mieze."

"No," insists Mieze, steering him back to the table. "You can't go anywhere without me and even with my help I doubt that we will be able to find her. She has more than likely gone to some hiding place to perform a healing spell on her injury. She is not going to want company while she does that - not even male company."

Gareth reluctantly obeys. After seeing firsthand what one Cat-Witch guard is capable of, he is unwilling to test Mieze's patience. As they approach the table a crowd of Witches follows all vying to get close to the object of such a commotion among two powerful Witches and a Cat-Witch guard. He sits at the table surrounded by a crowd of female ears of every conceivable shape and size wanting to hear his every word.

Lupa, totally recovered from her earlier fright, is sitting across from Gareth. She slides half way across the table and with her canid nose almost touching Gareth's unabashedly asks, "Well how was it with Icy last night? Is she good?"

"Lupa!" protests someone in the crowd.

"Well we all want to know," Lupa responds, lifting her pointed, furry ears even higher. "Come on, Gareth, spill it."

"What is there to say?" replies Gareth, "Icy just cried for most of the night."

"Awww, poor boy," quips Lupa, "did Icy take you over her knee and spank you?" But when no one laughs, she looks around at everyone and then it is I who starts giggling because Lupa's happy-go-lucky two ears up expression changes to a comical one ear up and one ear down "Somethin' ain't right with this picture" look. "Wait a minute here," yips Lupa as what Gareth has said suddenly hits her. "Did you say Icy was crying all night?"

"Lupa, ssssutt up and let the guy sssppiik!" hisses a green, snake-skinned Water-Witch named Rusulka, her forked tongue flicking the air.

Lupa sits back in her chair and is quiet but when Rusulka's head is turned Lupa mocks Rusulka's haughty air, sticks out her own tongue and laughs to herself.

"Matchka helps me bring food and drink to my chamber and helps me set up a table spread and put the wine in a bucket of ice to keep it cool before locking me in for the night," Gareth says, beginning his account. "I wash and shave and get myself ready to receive company. I wait and I wait and then I wait some more. I start thinking that maybe Icy is not going to show when suddenly she's there floating in the air before me. I have never seen her dressed this way before. Except for her high ponytail everything "Witch" has vanished. In its place she is wearing a bikini top and bottom over which she has a blouse with puffy sleeves and pants with long, puffy legs both made of filmy, powder-blue, semi-transparent material. She is wearing a veil of the same material over her face and her feet are bare. She looks like a dancer from a country on Terra called Arabia."

Gareth pauses to clear his throat and wet his lips. Lupa is sitting quietly and for the first time behaving but with a "Don't stop here!" expression on her face. M'Trika makes a gesture and a glass and a jug of water appear before Gareth from which he gratefully drinks while the Witches are on edge waiting for him to continue.

"I bid her 'good evening'," continues Gareth, "but she says nothing. I sit there expecting music to begin and for her to start doing some exotic dance but that does not happen. I begin thinking that perhaps she is waiting for me to do something so I get up and approach her. As I do, she descends until her feet are on the floor. I can now smell her perfume and whatever it is it smells musky and wonderful and makes me feel wide awake and as strong as an ox. She is still not saying a word. I am wondering what next when I notice that her veil is attached merely by threads looped over her ears so I un-loop one side and the veil falls to the floor before I can catch it but I am too busy looking at her face to care. Gone is the gaudy, camouflage makeup and in its place are some blush on her cheeks, perhaps a touch of lipstick and some amethyst highlighter on the edges of her delicately pointed ears. She has never looked more feminine or more beautiful as she did then. I feel emotions of love welling up in me like I've never felt them before."

A hundred or more Witch voices let out an enraptured sigh as Gareth pauses again for a sip of water. All seem lost in his story except for the blue-haired Witch from earlier this morning who is standing behind Gareth with her arms crossed defensively and a disgusted look on her face.

"'Ishandra, I've never seen you look so beautiful,' I tell her," continues Gareth after finishing his sip of water. "'I love you so very much. I wish I could make you see that. I know you are a Witch but I do not believe that you are truly evil. They are so wrong about you, Ishandra, for I know that there is a pure spark of goodness locked up in that cold interior of yours and I know that if it were set free that even though you are forever a Witch you would be such a force for good. Let me reach that spark within you, Ishandra, let me set you free, My Beloved.' I draw her into my arms and kiss her forehead long and tenderly. I feel a drop of warm moistness hit my arm and look down into quietly glowing ice-blue eyes that are weeping and to a sweet mouth that is partly open and inviting which I kiss while pouring out my love to her. We are like that for what seems like a long time her arms around my neck and my hands taking delight in the curve of her hips and her mouth against mine. Finally, I have to stand up straight to relieve the strain on my back and to release the strangle hold her arms have around my neck. She buries her face in my shoulder still sobbing. 'What's the matter, Ishandra?' I ask her. 'What is making my beautiful Witch cry as if her heart were breaking?' She just shakes her head. I pick her up and bring her by the low table where our small feast is spread out and set her down on the bolsters and pillows scattered about the floor. I didn't figure she would be interested in food at that time but I see the bottle of wine and think maybe a little would calm her. I open the bottle and pour her a glass and as I set the bottle down she notices that it is her favourite ice wine and starts crying all the more. I give her the glass of wine from which she drinks so avidly that she starts choking and I have to take it away from her. I experience a moment of panic but she recovers and wants to snuggle some more so I hold her while my back is comfortably supported against a bolster and murmur senseless things to her until she falls asleep. She feels so helpless in my arms, so frail that I could have crushed her."


	8. Lucy

"So why for The Tree's sake didn't you and rid the universe of her evil!" exclaims a husky, throaty voice bringing the air of romance to a crashing end and drawing everyone's eyes to the blue-haired Witch. "Gareth, Icy's just playing you for a fool," she continues. "Icy does not care anything for you. All she wants is to get her claws into you and bleed you for all your worth and you had better hope that she finishes you or next it will be Darcy's and Stormy's turn to suck out whatever's left when she's done."

"Lucy, that's mean," speaks up Vulpa, "I have seen Icy's aura since Gareth's been here and she's changed."

"Oh, get real, Vulpa," replies Lucy. "You rely too much on your ability to read someone's aura. Icy is just evil and she will never change."

"Like you should talk, Lucy," barks Lupa, standing up and making an ominous clack with her claws as her hand-paw smacks the tabletop. "I seem to remember a gawky Witch who used to follow Icy, Darcy and Stormy around like a lost puppy pouncing on any scrap of attention they would throw her. Oh, right! That was you, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, you tell her, Lupa," exclaims an angry voice from the crowd and other angry voices chime in to support her.

Lupa's comeback has Lucy looking wounded and floundering for words for an instant before she turns her attention back to Gareth. "If you must have a Witch for your soul mate," she tells him, "why not take up with Matchka? She, at least, truly loves you and nearly came to proving it today with her life had not M'Trika intervened. Or was that lost on you too? I've had it with you losers. I'm out of here." And with that she pushes her way out of the crowd.

"Yeah, Lucy. That's right," yells Lupa at Lucy's retreating back, "run back to Alfea back to that traitor Mirta and your faerie friends. Hey, and Prima Donna, this time do us all a favour and stay there."

"Ouch! What was that about?" I whisper to Mieze.

"Lucy used to be scrawny and ugly," whispers Mieze, "but she was a rabid fan of The Trix. For their supposed friendship she would do anything for them. But Icy, Darcy and Stormy took advantage of her one too many times and pushed her around once too often and she snapped. When Mirta came on her last visit to Cloud Tower, she told Lucy that there was a place at Alfea College for a Witch on an exchange program. Lucy jumped at the chance to escape The Trix and in her place we got a feline Faerie named Spika for a year. Anyway, when Lucy was at Alfea, she could not hide that she had a problem keeping down food. That is why she was so scrawny and pasty. A Faerie at Alfea named Flora, who specializes in botanical medicine, made her a potion that cured her and another Faerie named Stella showed her how to dress with style but it was a Faerie named Bloom who reshaped her face with Dragon Fire into the image of beauty it is now. And who do you think taught Bloom how to do that with Dragon Fire? It was Icy. Bloom may have earned her right to be the Guardian of the Dragon Fire but Icy is the expert on the use of Dragon Fire. Icy knows more about Dragon Fire and its potential than any Witch or Faerie in history or in the universe for that matter. After the Alfea War and the debacle with Lord Darkar, Icy was recaptured. During her imprisonment, Icy complained to Miss Griffin that she was really dismayed by the way Bloom was wasting her gift of the Dragon Fire and freely offered, as a way to make some amends, to give Bloom training. Miss Griffin spoke to Miss Faragonda who is headmistress at Alfea College for Faeries and with their blessing this Faerie, Bloom, came to Cloud Tower. Icy put her through a training regime that was worse than any Witch boot camp. I have to say that I'm pretty impressed with this Faerie Bloom. She has guts this one. She took all that Icy threw at her, learned it, and excelled far beyond what Icy or anyone here expected. Not only has she learned so much more about using Dragon Fire but she has earned the high respect, if not friendship, of Icy and also of many other Witches at Cloud Tower. And, believe me, respect from Witches does not come easily. Anyway, Lucy believes that the Faeries at Alfea College saved her and that Bloom alone gave her her pretty face. She will not admit to Icy having any part in it and she hates Icy now with the same passion she used to admire her. But most of all she has become an insufferable prima donna. This is not the first time she has had a run-in with Lupa."


	9. The Strangeness of your Aura

Lupa suddenly remembers that Gareth has not finished telling of his adventure with Icy and leans across the table once more and, while brushing his hand with the furry backside of hers, looks at him encouragingly and says, "Hey, so how did it finally end with Icy?"

"I fell asleep," he tells Lupa and the Witches still crowded around the table, "and when I woke up she was gone. Her glass of wine was finished, the food on the table was covered by some sort of cold shield and the wine was stoppered and in a fresh bucket of ice. Otherwise, nothing else happened between us."

"But something did happen," interrupts Vulpa, "the new strangeness of your aura makes sense now."

This time, the petite Fox-morph Witch has M'Trika's immediate and complete attention. "What new thing do you see?" she asks Vulpa seriously.

"Do you remember Icy's little ritual from last night, Gareth?" asks Vulpa, looking very nervous about what she is about to reveal.

"Yes," replies Gareth, "it was a test of my courage putting myself in a situation in which I had to trust Icy not to harm or kill me. Why are you asking?"

"When Icy licked your neck," continues Vulpa, looking more skittish than ever, "she marked you with an enzyme in her saliva which is like a signal that she has chosen you as hers. This enzyme is absorbed through the skin and becomes part of your scent and it also allows her to capture a piece of your aura from your blood. She thought she had captured you and made you her exclusive boy-toy. But, when you were together last night, Nature - which is still more powerful than the most powerful witch - stepped in and decided that she is a she and you are a compatible he. Nature did what Icy was unwilling to do. It took a piece of her aura and gave it to you. You are now permanently and inextricably bound to one another - wed by Nature, if you will."

"Whoa-ho, Lover-Boy!" whoops Lupa, grinning wolfishly at Gareth who is turning pale at this sudden revelation. "Congrats! You're hitched to a Witch. When do we celebrate?"

I do not know if congratulations are in order but the Witches are bringing the castle down with shouts, cheers and good-natured jibes which are mostly at my brother's expense. Finally, M'Trika bangs her staff on the floor to bring calm and order among the rowdy crowd of Witches.

"But there is more," says Vulpa in a small timid voice, looking like the hounds of death were about to be set after her. "He has a piece of Matchka's aura and she has a piece of his. He and Icy are more than just a couple.... He, Icy and Matchka are a Trix!"

Suddenly, the castle is dead silent and M'Trika is looking lightning struck. A thunderclap resounds throughout Cloud Tower and the face of Miss Griffin appears in cloud above our table. "What is this about a new Trix?" demands the apparition - its smoky eyes fixed upon a terrified Vulpa.


	10. Collars and Links

Vulpa and then suddenly my brother disappear from my sight as the huge image of Miss Griffin's face dissolves into mist and also vanishes.

"What has she done to my brother and Vulpa!" I cry to M'Trika in panic.

"Take it easy, Mansha!" replies M'Trika taking my hand. "They have been transported to the professors' section. Look up there."

I look up to a raised platform jutting from the wall above my head where there are presently five figures. Two are my brother and Vulpa and one is Miss Griffin. The other two Lupa identifies as Ediltrude and Zarathustra who are senior professors at Cloud Tower. Others begin to appear with the group. First is Matchka, taken from her window ledge. Then Icy appears in a pink outfit not looking any the worse for her ordeal from earlier this morning. Icy catches sight of Matchka and an instant shouting and shoving match breaks out between them. Matchka appears to be using restraint allowing Icy to push her but then Ediltrude points a finger at Matchka and a cocoon of light envelops her protecting her from Icy's aggression but rendering her at the same time unable to instigate any aggression of her own. The Cat-Witch's expression through the transparent cocoon is murderous. She no doubt wants more than ever to wipe the smug expression from Icy's face and hack her into mince with her scythe-like claws into the bargain. Next to appear on the platform are Darcy and Stormy. Darcy, however, dressed only in a negligee, has her arms about her and is shivering.

"Is it another hot time making out with Riven, Darcy dear?" mocks Lupa quietly while gyrating her hips, swishing her tail and taking great delight in Darcy's embarrassment and discomfort.

"I heard something about a Hero named Riven and a Faerie named Musa," I tell Lupa. "There was something about Darcy having stolen him away from Musa but then dumping him."

"Yes," confirms Lupa, "these are the same Darcy, Riven and Musa but you have the story somewhat twisted. Darcy never did dump Riven. Darcy has been and still is crazy in love with Riven since the day they both met. Had the Race for the Roses not given Darcy a way to capture him, she would have found another way. Darcy would never willingly break up with Riven and, for a time, Icy was okay with them being together but, when it came time for the attack on Red Fountain and Alfea College, Icy forced Darcy to break up with Riven because she was afraid that careless pillow talk between those two would give away her battle plans. Now that this is no longer an issue, he and Darcy are back together again and Icy just lets it be.

"So, they are meeting in secret?" I ask Lupa.

"Secret?" snorts Lupa. "If that's a secret, then it is only the worst kept secret in Cloud Tower and on the whole Planet of Alfea. No, Musa and everyone else knows about it mostly because Darcy can't keep from rubbing Musa's nose in it every chance she gets. Darcy thinks she's the better woman because she has captured Riven but I say dream on, Darcy dear, for whose image and mannerisms are you using to delude that poor hapless Riven into courting you? Musa's that's whose. So, who is the better woman, I ask you? Musa may be a faerie but she's no one's fool. She is just being tolerant of Riven and your little escapades with him because she knows how you are holding him. One day, push will come to shove and it won't be just a little catfight. Musa's going to want back what's hers and she won't be alone when she makes her claim. So, if you don't fear Musa, dear Darcy, you had better fear her five friends - especially the one who is the Guardian of the Dragon Fire."

"Darcy's going to drag us into another Witches against Faeries war," breaks in M'Trika, "and I don't want to be here when it happens."

"I hear you, Sister," replies Lupa to M'Trika, "and I don't want to be here either."

"What? I thought you admired The Trix," I gasp astonished.

"Please tell me you're joking," yips Lupa, her ears briefly flat against her skull. "Those three embody every bad thing ever said about Witches. Sure, they have their admirers and followers but to most of us they are renegades and the worst kind of trouble to plague us in centuries. The three of them are royal pains where you never had an ache and most of us can't wait for their complete and absolute downfall."

"I'm shocked," I say, "why then are they here and why are you putting up with them if that's the way you feel about them?"

"It is because they are still our sisters in the Sisterhood of Witches," says M'Trika solemnly, "and we do not turn our backs on our sisters despite them being renegades and trouble. We would rather see them reformed and making restitution and contributing to the good of the Sisterhood than destroyed. And where else would you rather them? Here where we can keep tabs on them or somewhere where The Tree knows what trouble they could be brewing?"

Lupa points to the elevated platform to draw our attention to a new flurry of activity. The Witches plus my brother have moved into a formation. Miss Griffin, the Headmistress of Cloud Tower, heads the formation with Ediltrude and Zarathustra on either side and just behind her. Vulpa, looking terrified and near wit's end, is standing in front of but with her back to Miss Griffin who has one hand placed on each of Vulpa's furry cheeks. Then in a circle starting from Miss Griffin are Matchka, Icy, Gareth, Darcy, who is now wearing a cape over her shoulders, and finally Stormy. Miss Griffin starts into a long drawn out chant while keeping her hands against Vulpa's cheeks and a blueish-red hue forms around the whole configuration.

"What's going on?" I ask M'Trika and Lupa.

"Miss Griffin is using Vulpa's ability to read aurae to see where the new power links lie among those five," explains M'Trika.

As Lupa, M'Trika and I look on and Miss Griffin continues to chant, collars and links start to form around individuals in the circle joining them together. First, a gold link forms between Gareth and Icy. A blue mist forms and throbs around Icy. When the mist lifts, a strange woman is standing next to Gareth but the gold link still joins them together. The stranger is the same size and shape as Icy and she is wearing Icy's pink outfit and has her hair up in Icy's high ponytail but her hair is raven black, her eyes are dark chocolate brown and her skin is olive toned.

"Ishandra? Ishandra!" gasps someone in the crowd and the stranger turns her head in recognition.

"By The Tree! That strange redheaded Witch's brother was right! Icy was Ishandra," cries another voice.

More links form as we look on. A silver link forms between Gareth and Matchka and Lupa and the others nod as in agreement with this. But next a gold link forms between Ishandra and Stormy. M'Trika, Lupa and also Mieze and Rusulka who have come over to join us look at each other in bewilderment.

"What's going on?" I ask M'Trika again.

"A gold link usually forms only between a woman and a man," whispers M'Trika. "A gold link between two women is almost unprecedented."

Finally, a silver link is made between Ishandra and Darcy.

The ritual concludes, the mist disappears and the links become invisible. Vulpa appears back among us and Lupa has to move quickly to catch the petite Fox-morph Witch as she crumples in a faint before us. The remaining people on the platform begin to regroup. Ishandra glues herself to Gareth's side looking like a woman who has finally admitted to the love for him bursting within her heart. Matchka stands behind Ishandra and Gareth no longer looking like one in a private war with the woman who once was Icy but as protector of the new couple.

"King Arthur, Queen Guenevere and Sir Lancelot," I whisper to Lupa who looks back at me quizzically.

Darcy is now standing in front of Ishandra looking like she couldn't care less whether she was Ishandra or Icy. Stormy, however, is livid with rage directed at Ishandra and is shouting at her and beating her fists against her hips for emphasis. Ishandra stands before her looking calm and occasionally speaking but Stormy appears unhappy with what she is hearing and continues to rage. Seeing that she is getting nowhere with Ishandra, Stormy next turns her anger towards Gareth. If she thought she got nowhere with Ishandra then she totally fails to impress the tall, broad-faced, redheaded bear of a man looking down at her with bright blue eyes filled with ultimate gentleness and sympathy who is my brother Gareth. Stormy is raising her hands as if to cast some mischief on Gareth when Ishandra spins her around, snakes her arms around her waist and kisses her. Ishandra's kiss is not one of a woman greeting another but one of a lover filled with passion and emotion so raw that it radiates even to the crowd standing below the platform. Stormy gradually surrenders to the passion of Ishandra's kiss and wrapping her arms around Ishandra's neck kisses her back with equal passion as the anger seems to drain out of her. When they release each other from their embrace, Stormy looks up at Ishandra without anger but still with an expression of deep sadness and hurt. Ishandra engages in a quiet conversation with Stormy then turns a very contrite Stormy to face Gareth who speaks to him with her eyes downcast. Gareth bends down, picks up the petite Witch and gives her a bear hug that is still gentle and very aware of Stormy's delicate frame. When Stormy is set back on her feet, Gareth caresses her cheek with his bear-sized hand while Stormy looks up to him blushing and smiling almost serenely.

One by one everyone vanishes from the platform. Ishandra and Gareth vanish first but not to reappear anywhere in the crowd below.

"Probably sent to Gareth's chamber," whispers Lupa with a wink.

Next Matchka reappears on the wide window ledge curled up asleep and contented as a cat dreaming of fish, cream and catnip. Then it's Darcy and Stormy's turn. Finally, after a short conversation, Ediltrude and Zarathustra vanish. Miss Griffin stands alone briefly observing us below looking tired, worn out and very old. Then she too disappears.


	11. Vulpa

I collapse into a chair while most split into groups. The air is now abuzz with a hundred discussions that break out all at once. Some are arguing for the new alliance some are arguing against and others are maintaining the neutral ground but all discussions are hot with emotion.

Lupa is attending to Vulpa who is seated on a chair but whose mind looks to be gone to another universe. Mieze hands Lupa water in a bowl especially constructed for their species from which Lupa encourages Vulpa to drink. Vulpa laps greedily from the bowl but her actions seem driven more by instinct than by any voluntary intension to drink. M'Trika meanwhile seems to be in contact with someone on a different plain of communication named Alysoun begging her to come with all haste. There is a flash and an angel appears or at least that is my best description of the winged beauty who is suddenly in our midst.

M'Trika addresses the new arrival as Alysoun and begins to brief her on recent events and Vulpa's involvement. When Alysoun speaks however, her voice sounds like a human voice married to an alto recorder. She is speaking in Witchspeak which has been altered because of her inability to produce certain sounds and her ability to produce others. I struggle to understand then, suddenly, I do as if M'Trika's language spell on me altered itself to accommodate Alysoun's strange dialect of Witchspeak.

"What have you given her?" asks Alysoun in her recorder-like voice.

"Just water," replies Lupa with her ears canted to either side and her tail swishing nervously.

"That was the right thing to do, Lupa," Alysoun assures Lupa while resting her ear against Vulpa's chest. "Her heartrate is highly elevated even for a Fox-morph."

Alysoun opens her kit and takes what looks like a piece of paper from a vile. She then sticks a slender finger into Vulpa's mouth and taking some spittle spreads it on the paper and observes the change of colour.

"By The Tree!" exclaims Alysoun. "Her humours and vapours are a mess. Miss Griffin did the meld, you say? Either Vulpa fought the meld or the Grand Lady's losing her touch," she continues with a hint of anger mixed with the concern in her voice. "I will need to get her to my infirmary at once and I will need someone to help me with her once there."

"Is Vulpa going to be all right, Alysoun?" inquires Lupa - her voice in a high pitch that I've never heard from her before.

"She's in bad meld withdrawal," explains Alysoun while gently stroking Lupa's hand-paw. "I will have to treat her for that and keep her in the infirmary for a day or two. Contact me tomorrow afternoon and I will tell you how she is and if you may visit her."

M'Trika says something to Mieze that I do not catch but immediately after Mieze looses a scream that cuts all conversation in the cafeteria short and has Matchka sitting bolt upright on her window ledge. Matchka leaps down and comes loping to our table where she and Mieze engage in a minute of yowling at each other. Matchka looks sadly over to Vulpa who is now completely limp on the chair. She kneels down and gently picks up the Fox-morph Witch holding her ever so gently against her breast. Matchka stands beside Alysoun, M'Trika makes a motion with her staff and the three of them vanish.

I get up to stand beside Lupa. "Are you all right?" I ask her.

"Yes," she says but her voice tells me otherwise.

"Alysoun is a healer?" I ask, trying to make conversation.

"She's a Faerie?" I ask.

"No," replies Lupa, sounding dispirited, "she's a Witch. There are no Faeries who have feathered wings."

"I'm sorry, Mansha, I'm sure you're trying to help," says Lupa then tuning to M'Trika asks, "May I please go to the infirmary? I have to know that Vulpa is going to be all right."

M'Trika looks about to refuse Lupa's request but then catching the pleading expression in Lupa's yellow eyes says, "Fine, go, but don't get in Alysoun's way and if she tells you to leave then don't argue with her. Do you wish me to teleport you there?"

"No," Lupa replies thankfully, "I need to pick up Vulpa's personal grooming kit and some other things for her. If she is going to be in the infirmary for some time she's going to want them. I doubt even Alysoun will have all that she requires. Thank you, M'Trika."


	12. Grandmamma

**Grandmamma**

I am being ignored. M'Trika is in a animated conversation with several others in a group. Another Cat-Witch with grey and white tabby fur has come over to our table and she and Mieze are engaged a hiss-yowl-spit conversation. My stomach begins growling and I realize that five hours have gone by since being escorted to the cafeteria by Mieze for breakfast and most of that hit the floor during the set-to among Icy, Matchka and M'Trika. In other words: I have had barely a bite to eat all day. I notice that many others must be feeling the same way for the cafeteria is filling with people with only one thing on their minds - lunch! I also realize that I have not been to a single class today and wonder if I should press Mieze to take me to my next scheduled class when in answer to my mental question the Cloud Tower equivalent of a PA system kicks in and in an authoritarian voice announces, "All classes are cancelled for the remainder of the day. Students may go to their dorms, the study rooms, the library - bla, bla, bla, so on and so forth (Oh, yes. This is a school all right.) bla, bla, blek - All senior staff members are to report to the such-and-such chamber on the where-ever floor of the ooguly-fooguly tower for an important something-or-other meeting (Yawn!) yakity-yak bleeech! squelch! click!"

I'm bored! How long am I supposed to sit here with nowhere to go and nothing to do? I'm thinking that maybe I should go see my brother Gareth but he is most likely in his chamber with Icy - or is it really "Ishandra" now? - but that is in a part of Cloud Tower where I am not allowed to go to without either Mieze or Matchka with me. Matchka has not yet returned from the infirmary and Mieze and the tabby Cat-Witch are still conversing with their noses wrinkled and their whiskers bobbing up and down the way that Lupa says means they are upset or angry. "No," I think to myself, "I had better not interrupt that conversation." Then I watch Mieze raise her hand-paw and her scythe-like claws snick in and out of their sheaths a few time and add, "Definitely not!" Then I excuse myself from not going to see Gareth by reasoning that if he is with Icy - or is it really Ishandra? - the last thing he'll want is his little sister barging in on him. So I sit.

I'm bored! How long am I supposed to sit here with nowhere to go and nothing to do? My stomach is reminding me again that I have had nothing to eat. Okay, eating sounds like a good idea and that does not require leaving the cafeteria or having to interrupt Mieze and with the crowd that is converging around the food tables there will soon be nothing much left to eat. I notice that among the crowd are many of the professors from the classes I have attended and many others whom I do not know. They all seem to be getting take-out and most of them have solemn, serious or harried expressions on their faces and all seem to be in a hurry to be somewhere else. I get to the steam table to see what is being offered for lunch and my mind rebels. "Yuck! More creepy-crawly cuisine," my mind screams at me but my stomach screaming even louder with "Feed me! Feed me!" I am fervently wishing that Lupa or Mieze or Matchka were here so I could watch their selections and choose likewise. I made the strangest discovery that the more human a Witch looked, the more likely she was to eat the insect cuisine but if I tagged behind the Cat-morphs like Mieze and Matchka, the Fox-morphs like Vulpa or Wolf-morphs like Lupa and put on my plate the items they chose, I was more likely to end up with a piece of real meat and then all I needed to do was add vegetables of which there were plenty and "Presto!" I had my meal. (However, I did learn that one of the items I thought was pepper steak was actually made of the Alfean equivalent of soy bean paste mixed with dried, ground mealworms and local spices.)

I have a tray and I have a plate and utensils and I am standing there trying to remember what I had that I liked before or for something that didn't look like it could crawl, squirm or wriggle off of my plate. Others are moving to either side of me digging into the food and looking irritated that I seem to be undecided and mostly in the way. I have finally made up my mind to try something that looked somewhat but not quite like shrimp when I hear a kindly, mature voice behind me.

"Witch ideals in food can be quite daunting, can't they, my child?" Or at least that is what I think is being said. I recognized the key Alfean words but the sentence structure is much more complex and the accents and inflections differ from Alfean Standard which I have been taught.

I turn and face a kindly looking elderly woman with white hair done up high wearing an old fashioned blue dress and little triangular cut spectacles. I have to fight the urge my mind creates to run up to her, put my arms around her waist and say, "Grandmamma!"

"Yes, it can be," I try to tell her but mangle the sentence badly in Alfean Standard and find myself feeling ashamed to have made such a blunder in front of Grandmamma.

"That's okay, dear," says Grandmamma, breaking into fluent Witchspeak while taking me by the arm and leading me out of the line and out of peoples' way to chat. "High Alfean is a difficult language to master but I do wish that the Department of Extraplanetary Affairs would stop teaching newcomers this mangled hodge-podge called Alfean Standard. It really causes no end of problems when they start learning proper High Alfean."

My stomach is rumbling again but I don't have the heart to tell Grandmamma that I would really like to get back in line and find at least something I can eat so I let her talk on.

"You know, dear," says Grandmamma, "you look very much like a redheaded student in my college and when I looked at you aura I was surprised to see in how many ways the two of you are alike. The only real difference is your main aura has a large proportion of Witch where hers is Faerie and you have Faerie where she has Witch but you both share that confusing mish-mash of other elements that should not mingle or mesh but somehow do. Strange. I should introduce you two. I am sure you would get along well together like two bookends."

I am about to ask who she is and who is the other redhead when my stomach rumbles audibly and I instinctively grab it as a hunger pang hits me.

"Oh dear!" exclaims Grandmamma. "You really are famished. Well, let's see what we can find you. One thing I must say about the Witches is that, although their food does not always look that appetizing, it is high quality and very healthy. For the most part, anything that kills us will kill them too so you never have to worry about being poisoned. But here, dear, I will help you select some of the more palatable items. You can taste sweet, can't you?"

"Thank you for your help and, yes, I can taste sweet," I politely say to her while thinking, "Yes, pleeeease! Anything to sort through this buggy-banquet!"

Grandmamma gives me that sweet look of all grandmothers that means, "Now don't you worry about a thing dear, Grandmamma knows what's best for you," as we head back to the steam tables where she grabs a plate and starts selecting various items which include the shrimp-like creatures. Satisfied with her selection, she sets the plate on my tray smiles and says, "Now I believe that there are vegetables on the steam table over there that would go nicely with this. Just think of your favourite meal while you eat and it will taste just like it."

By this time I am so starving hungry that I only take time to say a quick thanks to Grandmamma before I grab my tray and beeline for the vegetables. I plop some veggies on my plate without paying too much attention to what they are. As I head for the table, I suddenly remember that I never asked Grandmamma her name but when I turn around I see that she is engaged in conversation with a knot of professors and then my stomach rumbles once again and I rush to get back to my table.

When I reach my table I find that both Darcy and Stormy are there. Darcy is dressed in a chic two piece light brown business suit with a frilly blouse and has her long hair tied back and what appears to be a pencil tucked behind her ear. She is holding an old-fashioned piece of paper and with her square cut glasses perched on her nose she looks very much the Witch Business 500 executive, Bean Counter Division. An open attaché case is on the table and papers and charts spread around it. She appears to be talking to M'Trika in some official capacity. While Darcy is engrossed in what she is trying to show and explain to M'Trika, M'Trika's attitude is one of just acceptance mixed with cold business ethic. Stormy, dressed in her purple mini-skirt, is standing off to the side with her hand on the back of my chair looking as if she were dragged along because she had to be there but is wishing that Darcy would hurry up and tie things up so they could be somewhere else.

I approach the table and Stormy, looking up, realizes where I am heading and removes her hands from the back of my chair and stations herself about two feet behind it. I sit down feeling somewhat uneasy that Stormy is standing in back of me and Darcy is just a little ways off to the side.

Rusulka is seated across from me and is making good use of her time with her nose in a text book and a notebook on the table in front of her. For some reason I suddenly remember Grandmamma.

"Rusulka, can you tell me something?" I ask the green snake-skinned Water-Witch.

"Yesssss," says Rusulka in her sibilant version of Witchspeak, "what issss it?"

"Who is that nice, old lady in the blue dress with her hair done up high over there?" I ask her.

Rusulka fixes her red, vertically-slit eyes behind my shoulder, flicks her forked tongue four or five times then replies, "Missss Faragonda, Headmistresss of Alfea College for Faeriessssss."

"Oh!" I say and as that sinks in I absent-mindedly take a first forkful of my meal and think, "Hey! This chicken curry isn't half bad."


	13. Girl Talk With Stormy

**Girl Talk With Stormy**

"You are not, under any circumstance, to approach or to engage in any conversations with The Trix unless they approach you," Miss Griffin's voice asserts in my memory as I recall our first day. And, as if Gareth and I did not get the message the first time, it is repeated to us by Professor Ediltrude and again by Professor Zarathustra and yet again by our two Cat-Witch guards and guides, Mieze and Matchka, while Matchka waves a hand-paw with switch-blade sized claws extended under both our noses - just in case we didn't get the point.

I am disappointed - to say the least - not to be able to approach The Trix because one of the main reasons that Gareth and I undertook the trip to Cloud Tower on our fact finding mission was to interview them and learn about them first hand. So I figured that Gareth and I would learn about them through the indirect approach.

Our attempts to learn about The Trix through this approach, however, were just as much a failure. The Witches were happy to talk about themselves but when we approached the subject of The Trix, we were met with a polite change of subject by some, a flat refusal to continue our interview by others and, in some cases, near outright hostility. By the end of the first day, we learned that normal interview techniques were not going to get us anywhere with these Witches on the subject of The Trix so we decided not to press. On our second day, we caught a break when M'Trika gave us the power to understand Witchspeak. While the general populace of Cloud Tower was still unaware of our newly acquired language skills, we took to listening and what we got was an earful.

The first thing we learned was that The Trix were not at Cloud Tower as students or guests but as prisoners and _personae non gratae. _Some were saying that it was Cloud Tower itself that was keeping them prisoner here - its wrath fired against them for sending their power through its veins to seize control of its heart and for the theft of its part of The Codex. There were stories of Miss Griffin and others trying to escort The Trix off the Cloud Tower campus only to reach a certain point in any direction where The Trix would vanish and reappear either in the Cloud Tower main foyer or back in their dormitory.

Realizing that she was stuck with The Trix at Cloud Tower, Miss Griffin made the firm decision that Icy, Darcy and Stormy were not to spend their time gold-bricking or planning mischief while living like pampered cats sponging off the Cloud Tower tab. She soon assigned them rather prestigious positions as professor's assistants. Icy was sent to Professor Zarathustra of the Department of Arcane Magic, Philosophy and Ancient Languages, Stormy was paired with Professor Ediltrude of the Department of Astrology and Celestial Phenomena and Darcy was paired with Professor Mabra who was doing research at the Cloud Tower Library. But, in a short time, Professor Mabra complained to Miss Griffin that Darcy was more a hindrance than a help so Miss Griffin sent Darcy to the Accounting Department were she finds herself at home assisting with the complex number-crunching and records keeping involved in the daily administration of Cloud Tower.

Of The Trix, Icy fared the best. Her nack for delving into books, manuscripts, data crystals and other media and extracting from them the most arcane, illusive and yet useful information proved to be of great value to Professor Zarathustra who began to realize that Icy's expertise in many fields matched and, in some repects, surpassed her own. Within a short march of time, Icy has Professor Zarathustra persuaded to allow her to lecture in some of her classes. When she did, Icy held the class in such a tight grip that everyone sat mesmerized and, for a time, forgot all their differences with the leader of The Trix. Darcy performed her duties with great efficiency but, for the most part, opted for a low profile. Stormy, perpetually more the tempestuous child than a mature woman, was at constant odds with Professor Ediltrude. However, one argument saved the lives of several young Witches when Stormy predicted that a demonstration on controlling lightning would go freakishly and horribly wrong and turn the ground where they would have been standing into boiling mud. For the sake of peace, Professor Ediltrude had them stand behind an embankment fifty yards further back than the planned observation point thereby saving all from certain death. This event mollified somewhat the tensions between Stormy and Professor Ediltrude now that the professor took more seriously what Stormy had to say but the sparks never totally ceased to fly between them.

M'Trika and Darcy are still conversing as Rusulka and most everyone else pack up their belongings and vacate the cafeteria. I welcome the chance to take my empty plate and tray to the drop-off and to return and sit near the opposite end of the table away from Darcy and Stormy. Neither Matchka nor Lupa has returned from the infirmary nor is Mieze anywhere to be seen. I sit there bored with my elbows on the table and my head in my hand nodding off from inactivity and the heavy meal digesting in my stomach when I hear the sound of a chair being dragged and somebody sitting on it with a heavy sigh. I awake from my stupor to see Stormy sitting only inches from me at the end of the table with a bored, exasperated expression on her face. We catch each other's eyes and simultaneously turn away. Then Stormy too puts her elbows on the table and her head in her hands and stares sullenly at Darcy and M'Trika still going at it at the opposite end of the table. With one hand she begins to idly draw air designs on the tabletop then, finally, in a gesture that goes unnoticed by the two at the other end of the table, she makes the universal, opening-and-closing c-hand gesture that can only mean, "Yak! Yak! Yak!" and I begin to giggle.

"Hello," says Stormy.

"Hello," I say back to her.

"I have been wanting to talk to you!" we both say together and then laugh.

Stormy gives me the go ahead sign so I continue, "I have been wanting to talk to you, Darcy and Icy but I got a lecture from Miss Griffin not to approach you three on pain of death."

"Isn't that just like Griffin?" says Stormy. "She had us in her office before your arrival and told us the exact same thing and told us that the kitty-cats would be watching out for any mischief from us. When we leave her office, Icy says, 'Yeah, like as if!' and continues to do whatever she wants. Oh, by the way, way to go standing up to her last night. I wish I had been that brave when she challenged me."

"What do you mean?" I ask - my curiosity aroused.

"Icy pulls that stunt on all the newbies," explains Stormy. "But you sure gave her a surprise! No one has ever dared come back at her like that before. Darcy and I almost had to put a spell on ourselves so as not to burst out laughing. When she did it to me, I just gave her the plate and vanished. But at that time you could use magic in the cafeteria. It didn't do me any good though. Icy chased after me and, when she caught up with me, she transformed me into a bleeek! skreeeech!"

M'Trika's interpreter spell fumbles for a Terran equivalent but somehow my mind is supplied with the image of a large, seriously ugly dragonfly-like insect what-kick-butt. So I think "dragonfly what-kick-butt" and something or other in my head seems to go "Whirrr! Click!" as if some computer were digesting new input and making a decision.

"Don't even get me started on what she fed me while she had me captured in that bottle!" laughs Stormy continuing her story. "Three weeks later, Darcy arrives. Icy transformed her into a vooop! eeek! (Mind: sewer rat what-kick-butt) and we kept her locked up in a cage for a week but every night we let her out and we chased her all around Cloud Tower with brooms."

"Awww, poor Darcy," I manage to say through my laughter. Then we look at each other and say, "Not!" And then we both laugh.

Stormy pauses for a moment as if reliving a fond memory. "The three of us became The Trix shortly after that swearing life-long loyalty to each other and, as if in a agreement, bits of our aurae merged one with the other so we became inextricably bound."

"I notice that you and Icy share a special bond," I say, daring to bring up the events of this morning. "Lupa and M'Trika were telling me that a gold link is rare between women."

"Oh, you saw that?" replies Stormy somewhat surprised. "Well, now that you know, yes, there is a special bond between Icy and me. Icy has saved my life on a number of occasions."

"Was that during the Alfea War or when you were fighting Lord Darkar?" I ask daring again to tread on dangerous ground.

"No, not at all!" says Stormy indicating that I am entirely on the wrong track. "There is, you see, a great price to pay for being a Storm-Witch," she continues. "I accumulate electrical energy despite myself which needs to be released as a storm or by special bracelets that allow me to release it back into the ground. It is the presence of a Storm-Witch that will cause milk to curdle and other milk products to go bad. That is why such food has to be put in special containers here. Anyway, I cannot always wear the bracelets because a certain amount of this energy I collect is required for my well-being. However, here in Cloud Tower, I don't always get to my crib in time to put on my discharge bracelets when I have too great a build-up. At that point, I go into convulsions and if not treated quickly, I die. Normally, only another Storm-Witch can touch me in this state because the energy discharge is deadly to anyone else. Icy overcomes this problem somehow using an extra stable water molecule of some sort to shield herself as she treats me. However she does it, I can't count now how many times I have fallen only to wake up in our crib in Icy's arms with my bracelets attached and she's mopping my forehead and telling me that everything is all right. She is always so kind to me when this happens, cradling me and calling me her 'Little One'. It is freaky sometimes but nice. Sometimes afterwards we mock wrestle, pillow fight or play Kitten-in-the-Cradle and other women's games. She laughs with me then too. It's not her usual wicked laugh either but one that is kind. These are special times for me because otherwise Icy is always screaming and yelling at Darcy and me and bossing us around."

There is an awkward pause when I find myself not knowing what to say. I note the passing time and wonder out loud, "I wonder were Gareth is?"

"Ishandra is probably keeping him very busy at this moment," responds Stormy to my musing. "He is something else, isn't he, spellbinding Icy like that? I have never seen her so smitten and so a-tweet and a-twitter over a guy since I've known her. In fact, I've never seen her fall so head-over-heels for any guy who has really offered her nothing but his love. With Icy, there is always a power grab somewhere in the works in any relationship. But last night, she was in such a hurry to get back to our crib that she was nearly flying through walls. Once there, she was right into the shower where she stayed for almost an hour. Darcy and I are looking at each other wondering, 'What's wrong with this here picture?' but we are enjoying ourselves so much watching Icy being so a-flight and a-flutter that we just sit back and enjoy the show."

I, too, find it hard to imagine Icy in that state but I decide not to make any remarks and let Stormy go on talking.

"Anyway," continues Stormy, "she comes out of the shower and stands in front of the full length mirror trying to find a new way to do her hair. First she leaves it loose, then she puts it over one shoulder, and then over the other, then she ties it into a long tress and then the tress is over one shoulder and then over the other but none of this seems to satisfy her. Then she has it loose again flowing over both arms. The next thing she tries is to pile it high and seems to be happy with that until I tell her that she looks like a young Miss Faragonda from Cutesy Academy. Well, that 'do' comes down in a hurry. Then she is in another room looking for something and I lean over to Darcy with my hands clasped over my heart and batting my eyes I whisper to her, 'Awww, Darcy-kins, it must be wuv. Icy-Wicy's little heart is going pitter-pat, pitter-pat - like a rat in a cage.' And then Darcy looks at me and in the same manner whispers, 'Awww, Stormy-poo, it's disgusting.' At that moment, Icy comes back with a powder-blue tower and does her hair back up in its usual high ponytail and is happy with that while Darcy and I are muffling our laughter in our sleeves."

"Oh, that's wicked!" I tell Stormy while laughing myself.

"Yes," agrees Stormy, "but the best is yet to come."

"Oh, really?" I say with a grin that is almost as bad as Lupa's. "Tell me more!"

"Well," Stormy laughs, "then she is fretting and fussing over what to wear and going on saying, 'I can't wear my black leather outfit to go out on a romantic evening.' (Darcy looks at me and mouths, 'Romantic evening?' while she circles her temple with her index finger and she sticks her tongue out sideways and I mouth back 'Cuckoo!') 'It's just a whip short of a dominatrix or a virago without her broadsword.' So Darcy, as cool as a cucumber, says to her, 'Why not just go to him _au naturel. _I'm sure he'd love that and it would certainly get his attention.'"

"No way!" I say shocked with my hand over my mouth laughing. "No way Darcy'd dare say that to Icy." But then I start thinking about just how much Gareth would have loved seeing Icy like that and almost double up laughing.

"Way!" says Stormy nearly crying with laughter. "And you should have seen the dirty look on Icy's face. It was a scream! We just couldn't hold ourselves back from laughing out loud any more while she just stood there sputtering and fuming. It was just too much."

We both have to pause to get our breath. I think of the mighty Icy reduced to this, shake my head and then start laughing again.

"Well, I have to tell you something about Icy. All she has in her armoire is a couple of changes of her black leather outfit, a pink mini-skirt and top and a blue mini-skirt and top plus a couple of pairs of high, stiletto boots and that's all. She doesn't even own a little black dress."

"No little black dress?" I gasp, feigning horror.

"No iddow bwack dwess," repeats Stormy in a teeny-tiny voice with her mouth in a moue and shaking her head. "Finally, Darcy takes pity on her and offers to help her. She casts a _Ya Laylot-Hob_ spell on her and - behold! - she is dressed in this strange outfit. It has a black bra and black, frilly panties over which there are a powder-blue blouse with long puffy sleeves that leaves part of her midriff bare and pantaloons both made of this filmy semi-transparent material. Over her face is a veil made of similar material and on her feet are cute little slippers with turned-up toes. 'Where did you get this?' asks Icy while admiring herself in the mirror already liking the outfit. 'It's the costume of a Terran Witch called a Genie,' Darcy tells her. 'I read it from the top of lover-boy's mind while he was kissing you. It's from something called _The Tales of 1001 Arabian Knights_.' Icy is still liking the outfit but looking askance at it. 'Are you sure it will please Gareth?' she asks. Darcy just throws up her hands and says, 'Sister, if the Genie can use this little number to turn on one thousand and one knights then it certainly has enough magic to please just one. He'll go crazy for it.' And I have to admit that when Icy was wearing it she did have the style and she did have the flair."

"Look all you want just don't touch the hair," I add and Stormy stops to think on it for a second and says, "Yeah, something like that."

"Anyway, we think we are about done when Icy takes a step and the cute slippers with the curled up toes start to tinkle. She kicks them off in disgust saying that she is a Witch not a tinkle-dork but then she sees her toenails and has to do something about them."

"So let me guess," I say. "It was the same thing with her toenails as it was with her hair?".

"Exactly," says Stormy. "Long tale short, she ends up with her toenails painted black with a silver ice dragon motif. Then Darcy has her come over to her vanity to put some blush over her cheekbones and to add a touch of lipstick and some amethyst highlighter along the edge of her ears. The last touch was some exotic boy-catching perfume. Darcy tells her to put a dab on her cheeks and throat which she does but when Darcy starts thinking she was about to apply more she shouts, 'Whoa! Enough!' and Icy, losing her cool, jumps and drops the bottle that breaks on the floor. It took ten _Putidum Exterminamus_ spells from each of us to bring the smell down to bearable but by then it had been wafting out the window attracting every love-sick catbird for miles around to perch on the railing of our balcony. The veil is back in place and she is ready to go. 'Go get him, Sister,' says Darcy, smiling at her. 'Break his leg so he can't get away.' And I add that if she's bringing us back a doggy-bag to try and get me a shank and then she's gone."

After a pause, Stormy continues slowly and sadly, "Well, that's the last we saw of Icy for when she came back she was already becoming Ishandra and the meld this morning confirms it - Icy is no more. I was so angry with Ishandra for taking Icy away from me. I was afraid for my life. Could Ishandra help me in my times of need? And then I was so angry with Gareth for stealing Icy away and changing her that I wanted to blast him with lightning. But then Ishandra kissed me and I felt certain that she would remain with me and our bond with each other was still a strong and special one but I still don't know this strange woman who once was Icy. And your brother... it still amazes me how he picked me up so unafraid of what touching me might do to him. And when he held me and hugged me, I felt like I was grounded in something or someone strong and steadfast and the lightning, for once, stopped raging in my head."

Stormy touches my hand and a crack of thunder explodes in my head.


	14. The Leopard Lady

**The Leopard Lady**

I am standing off to the side watching the back of a woman who appears to be doing household tasks. I see her reaching up as if shelving and arranging items but I do not see the items, the shelves or anything else. I see only just the woman as if someone has decided that she is the only thing of importance. The woman is wearing a form fitting garment, stiletto boots and has her sandy red hair done up in a high ponytail. For a moment I think I am looking at Icy in different garb but as I watch the woman move I realize that she is moving with fluid grace and not with Icy's haughty swagger. Her outfit is fawn coloured not midnight black and her long tassel of hair gives me the impression of something meant as a cloak of protection not something reminiscent of the sticky trap of blue-white spider webs which is Icy's. The woman turns to work at another invisible task so I can see her in profile. I notice that her white skin is covered with freckles that match her hair colour but unlike my own riot of freckles, which look like they were splattered over my face and body by an artist gone mad with a paintbrush, hers are rose-shaped leopard spots arranged in a definite pattern. So I begin to think of her as the "Leopard Lady". She then turns faceing me and I look into eyes entirely unlike Icy's ice-blue eyes that reflect only hot hate and cold malice but into emerald green eyes reflecting knowledge, wisdom, gentleness and understanding. The Leopard Lady's face is strangely catlike and the deep, narrow divot under her nose that nearly splits her upper lip in two reinforces the illusion. I am asking myself who is the Leopard Lady when a child's voice screams and then starts crying.

"Emma! Em-ma! Where are you?" calls the crying child's voice.

Time seems to stand still for a moment as I ask, "Her name is Emma?"

A voice speaking in my head replies, "No, it is her title. It is like wise woman, prophetess, healer, teacher and guardian compressed into a single word."

"She sounds like a very important woman," I remark and again The Voice replies, "Yes, she is."

Time resumes and the Leopard Lady replies, "Over here, Stormy-Child," to the child's cry.

I hear the sound of a child's running feet and then I see the "child". But this child is really Stormy with the curvaceous body of a young woman only tiny and just able to get her arms around the Leopard Lady's waist and put her head against her stomach. Stormy-Child looks up into the Leopard Lady's face with tears in her eyes and her makeup a mess all over her face and on her hands from crying and rubbing her eyes. The Leopard Lady stoops down to the woman-child who is Stormy and scoops her up into her arms. Stormy-Child makes an instinctive grab for the Leopard Lady's long tassel of hair and wraps it around herself like a blanket as she sobs into her shoulder.

"What's the matter?" asks the Leopard Lady of the crying woman-child. "I thought you were playing with your little friends."

"I was," replies Stormy-Child through sobs, "but then Bemaybah hit me and Weslah pulled my hair and Steorra called me a mean name."

My mind is supplied with the images of the three children: Bemaybah, a squat blue-skinned Troll child with pudgy fists that she too often uses to enforce her will and to settle arguments, Weslah, a Faerie child with tomboyish cut blue hair and full wings each with a bright green central eye graduating to blue and yellow on the edges, and Steorra, a Witch child and also a Ferret-morph quick and agile with soft fur and enormous brown eyes like stars for which she is named.

"What happened to make them do that?" asks the Leopard Lady.

"Steorra was being mean and wouldn't let me play with her doll," sobs Stormy-Child.

"Well isn't it Steorra's dolly? Did you ask Steorra nicely if you could play with her doll?" questions the Leopard Lady.

"Yes, but she said, 'No!'" protests Stormy-Child.

"Did you hit or hurt Steorra to make her give you her dolly?" asks the Leopard Lady with the great patience of one having mediated many a children's squabble.

"Well, I shocked her to make her let go of the dolly... but I didn't shock her very hard," says Stormy-Child with the look of child who has been caught being naughty.

But instead of punishment the Leopard Lady cups Stormy-Child's chin so she has to look into her emerald green eyes and with a soft but stern voice says, "What have I told you about hurting your friends with lightning, Stormy-Child?"

"That is mean and naughty," mumbles Stormy-Child shyly with a finger in her mouth.

"Yes, it is," confirms the Leopard Lady. "You could have hurt Steorra very badly. Are you sorry now that you shocked poor Steorra?"

"Yes," says Stormy-Child and begins to cry tears of sincere regret.

"And what about Weslah? Did she really pull your hair?" asks the Leopard Lady.

"Yeeees," begins Stormy-Child but when the Leopard Lady frowns at her says, "Noooo, she flyed away."

"She flew away, dear," corrects the Leopard Lady. "Weslah flew away."

"Weslah flew away," repeats Stormy-Child. "But that was mean too and Bemaybah did hit me and Steorra did call me a mean name," she adds defensively then tries to wrap the Leopard Lady's tassel more tightly around her as she buries her face in the Leopard Lady's neck.

"But that happened only after you tried to steal Steorra's doll away from her, right?" asks the Leopard Lady.

"Uh-hun," comes the hair-muffled reply.

I watch the Leopard Lady rock the woman-child in her arms while swaying in small dancing steps and thinking.

"You still have to do something nice for Steorra to make up for trying to steal her doll and to tell and to show her that you are sorry for hurting her," she tells Stormy-Child. "Say, where is that lovely big dolly that Auntie Griffin gave you - the one you said that you were tired of playing with? Perhaps if you brought it to Steorra and said you were sorry, Steorra might let you play with her dolly. And maybe you could bring Weslah that pretty Faerie doll from Sparx that Auntie Bloom gave you and for Bemaybah the magic musical cube from the Harmonic Realm that Auntie Musa gave you. Then you would all have something to play with. Isn't that better than hurting Steorra and stealing her dolly so she calls you a mean name and making Bemaybah hit you and Weslah fly away? You have to show them a good example by being a big girl and playing nicely. Can you do that for me?"

"Uh-hun," replies Stormy-Child while looking into the Leopard Lady's kindly spotted face with her messy, tear-streaked face.

"Now, I will have to do something about that messy face before you go back to play with your friends," says the Leopard Lady.

The Leopard Lady seats the woman-child on a table or ledge that I cannot see so I am given the odd impression that she is sitting on nothing and dangling her feet in the air. A cloth appears in the Leopard Lady's hand and as she cleans the smeared makeup and the tear streaks from Stormy-Child's face, Stormy-Child begins to look more and more like a sweet little girl with an innocent, angelic face, a pretty smile and a pair of bright pale blue eyes rather than like a woman.

"There," says the Leopard Lady as the final smudges of makeup vanish from little hands. "What else can I do for you?"

"Huggies, snugglies and kissy-face," burbles the little girl.

"Sure," laughs the Leopard Lady as she lifts the little girl back into her arms. "Here are some huggies," she says while holding the girl close to her and rocking her. "Here are some snugglies," while rubbing her chin on top of the girl's head. "And also some kissy-face," as she kisses the girl's forehead and cheeks while the girl wraps her little arms around the Leopard Lady's neck and hugs, snuggles and kisses her back. And then with a grin on her face she says, "And here come some ticklelies," and tickles the girl's tummy.

"Nooo, not ticklelies," squeals and laughs the girl in delight as she squirms in the Leopard Lady's arms and tries to push away her spotted hand.

"All right," says the Leopard Lady, setting Stormy-Child on her feet. "I have to work now. Can you go back to playing with your little friends? And remember: Play nicely."

"I will, Emma," laughs Stormy-Child and runs off once more a happy little girl and vanishes as the Leopard Lady resumes her invisible task.

"Who is she?" I ask.

"She's a Witch but she's unlike any Witch who has been before. You do not recognize her?" asks The Voice in my head.

"No," I tell The Voice.

"Perhaps not," responds The Voice. "She has modified her appearance somewhat with magic. Let me remove that so you can see her clearly."

As I watch, her emerald green eyes remain the same but the leopard spots become a riot of blotchy freckles and the divot under her nose becomes normal dissolving the appearance of a cat.

"That's me? But this is all mixed up! I'm only a fourteen year old girl not a woman or a Witch and Stormy's a woman not a child," I exclaim to The Voice.

"It is because what you are looking at is a reflection of your personality and not your chronological or physical self," explains The Voice. "And you are also seeing something of how Stormy sees you and you are seeing Stormy as she truly is inside. But you will come to physically resemble the woman you think of as the 'Leopard Lady' in about six years time."

I am flattered to think that I would become this beautiful, wise and caring woman but it all seems so fantastic. Then it dawns on me to ask, "Who are you?"

"I am the entity you know as 'Cloud Tower'," responds The Voice.


	15. Cloud Tower Speaks Pt 1

**Day 3 : Cloud Tower Speaks, Part 1**

"But how is it that I can hear you?" I ask Cloud Tower.

"It is because of the combination of your powers with Stormy's that allows us to communicate," she replies. "You are naturally predisposed to hearing me," she continues, "but it took Stormy's electrical powers to jump-start your abilities."

"And you say that I'm a Witch?" I ask again for confirmation – not being able to fathom being a Witch or having powers.

"Yes," confirms Cloud Tower, "and one who is unique in the universe and also one with a special mission."

"And what about Gareth? Is he a Wizard or someone possessing special powers too?" I ask her.

"No, he is neither but one who by his very presence is a stabilizing and catalyzing force," she replies. "Maybe that is magic but it is of a passive nature. It is because of him and his love for Ishandra that I could free her from Icy's grip."

"You are talking about Ishandra and Icy as if they are two separate beings. How is that so?" I ask.

"Icy is a primordial spirit from ancient times who has powers over ice and snow. She is raw hatred to her very core and desires only to cause havoc, death and destruction wherever and whenever she can," Cloud Tower explains, "but she requires a flesh and blood body to carry out her evil will. When Alysoun rescued Ishandra from Terra and brought her to Alfea, she was already weakened from malnutrition and still traumatized from the shock of seeing her mother burned alive and filled with anger and thirst for revenge. That made it easy for Icy to invade Ishandra's body, to take control of her, endow her with her frigid powers and change her appearance giving Ishandra her trademark snow-white hair and ice-blue eyes."

As Cloud Tower speaks, I am presented a vision of Alysoun holding a young woman who is barely out of girlhood within her arms and sheltering her protectively with her wings. I know this woman to be Ishandra but she is sickly, weak and scrawny and, although her eyes are closed, I see she already possesses Icy's snow-white hair.

"Once Icy had control of Ishandra's body," says Cloud Tower, "there was very little I could do for her. Not even those taking care of her were aware of what had taken place. As I have already told you, Gareth's love for Ishandra weakened Icy's grip on her but when Miss Griffin performed the meld through Vulpa, it was his participation in that meld that allowed me to reach into Ishandra and oust Icy from her body. I am sorry that Vulpa had to suffer the backlash of the battle between Icy and me but I had no choice but to seize the opportunity before it was lost forever."

"That is frightening," I say, "to think that Icy is still about in her ethereal form and may be looking for a new body to possess."

"Yes," agrees Cloud Tower, "and it will be one of your missions to make sure that Icy does not make her way into a new body. She will most likely attempt to take back Ishandra for it is easier for her to repossess a body that she has once occupied than it is for her to find someone who is vulnerable to her invasion. Ishandra is much stronger than she was when she first came to me and she is more resistant. Ishandra's love for Gareth and his love for her also protect her but neither Ishandra nor anyone else is completely invulnerable."

"I feel like the most unlikely person to fulfill this mission," I tell Cloud Tower, "for I do not have any powers or abilities."

"There is where you are wrong and selling yourself short," says Cloud Tower gently. "Thanks to your contact with Stormy, your latent powers are now active. For example there is your power to hear and communicate with me, there is your power that allows you to see Icy in her ethereal form and how she really is and not least among your powers is your power that prevents Icy from invading a new body."

I am standing all a-gawk and a-gah, bewildered and somewhat frightened about these revelations as Cloud Tower speaks of my mission and my destiny, "For the moment, you have to act as a sort of scarecrow keeping Icy at bay. However, the day will come when you have to stand face-to-face against Icy, and, with the help of others including the Faeries – especially the one among them named Bloom – drive Icy back to the Black Abyss from whence she came and seal her there for all eternity."


	16. Cloud Tower Speaks Pt 2

**Day 3 : Cloud Tower Speaks, Part 2**

"But you say that that is only part of my mission," I press Cloud Tower. "What is the rest?"

"You must save The Trix," speaks Cloud Tower, "and prevent Ishandra, Darcy and Stormy from breaking up even though Icy no longer possesses Ishandra's body."

"But there are so many even among the Witches who hate and despise The Trix," I respond, baffled. "Why then should I preserve their union?"

"There is a great danger on its way that all on Alfea will have to fight as a single body of both Witches and Faeries," says Cloud Tower.

"What danger is this that all must rally to fight?" I ask.

"That is a little hard for me to explain to you so you may understand it clearly," says Cloud Tower. "The best analogy I can provide you with is: If you think Icy is bad then wait until you get a load of Icy's parents – and they are on their way to Alfea. Even in the spirit world, parents look after offspring and the same adage that applies to corporal beings applies also to them which is: If you mess with our children then you are messing with us. It will take a unified force of many to defeat them and The Trix are especially needed because they have the most experience with Icy and are the most knowledgeable on how she and her kind do battle which will be an invaluable resource to draw upon in planning our defence and campaigns against them."

"I do not see much of a problem keeping Ishandra and Stormy together," I reply, "but Darcy is an unknown for me. I do not doubt that there is a good reason for why she is known as the Mistress of Illusion and Deception. How do we know that Darcy does not have a hidden agenda which may involve stabbing us through the back? And I also wonder how Ishandra will be useful to us in battle if she no longer has powers over ice and snow which were Icy's."

"I will have to answer your last question first," replies Cloud Tower. "Ishandra still has powers over ice and snow but they are not the powers Icy gave her. Ishandra is The Witch Guardian of the White Ice Dragon Fire which has been her destiny to receive from the Great Dragon all along. And whereas Ishandra is The Witch Guardian of the White Ice Dragon Fire, Bloom is The Faerie Guardian of the Red Dragon Fire which was given to her bloodline – again by the Great Dragon. My recommendation to you for Darcy is to get to know her intimately. Study especially all her non-verbal habits for they speak most clearly the thoughts of the heart. Deep in her heart, Darcy is not evil. She has been lead astray by Icy. You and Ishandra can start to bring her back to The Light by making her feel needed, wanted and still an important member of The Trix. Which brings me to your last mission."

"What is that?" I ask almost dreading the reply.


	17. The Final Mission

**Day 3 : The Final Mission**

{

This chapter has been transcribed from what Ælfscine has dictated to me, therefore, I accept responsibility for any and all errors and omissions.

Ælfstangard

}

"You must get the Witches back on track and remind them about who they are and what their true place and destiny are in the universe," replies Cloud Tower.

"Am I now to be the Witch Saviour?" I ask, astonished. "What do I know of the true place and destiny of the Witches?"

"No, you will be more like an oracle for the Goddess and myself," replies Cloud Tower. "It is through you that we will guide the Witches back to The Light and back to their true place and destiny."

"And what is that?" I ask.

"Do you know the true meaning of the word 'Witch' in your own language?" asks Cloud Tower.

"No," I tell her.

"It means quite literally 'she who is wise'," she replies. "The Witches were never meant to be evil. They were to be protectors of the earth, healers wise in the ways of Nature and her moods, keepers of tribal history, advisors and other such good things. Ishandra's name also means 'she who is wise' in yet another language."

"Fascinating," I tell her, "I never knew that."

"As you become a wise woman," continues Cloud Tower, "you shall learn many things you never knew you never knew. But I need to warn you. Do not be fooled into believing that all Witches are good for, in truth, they are not. There are many evil women in the universe who call themselves 'Witches' but like Icy they harbour only malice and hatred in their hearts and want only to cause death, destruction and havoc but they are not the majority of Witches. Most Witches are innocent victims drowning in a vast sea of ignorance about their own kind and destiny and need to be rescued. You are destined to play a great part in that rescue. I shall…."

I feel my shoulder being shook and hear my brother's voice saying, "Wake up, sleepyhead. It's almost time for dinner."

I open my eyes, stretch and yawn. Then I see Stormy slouched over the table and out like a light. Gareth is standing beside Ishandra and the two are looking at each other with the glowing eyes and the love-struck look of lovers and newly-weds. Darcy is standing beside Stormy who appears to be merely asleep but not responding to Darcy's attempts to rouse her.

"What is the matter with Stormy?" I ask the three but then I find them staring at me and each other – Darcy and Gareth in confusion and Ishandra as if floored in utter shock and amazement.

"Where did you learn that?" asks Ishandra, her words suddenly shaky, somewhat accented but still understandable.

"Learn what?" I ask her.

"Darcy, summon Miss Griffin here, now!" Ishandra orders her brunette sister.

"What's going on?" asks Darcy, her forehead wrinkled in question and confusion.

"No questions, Darcy," drones Ishandra, "just get her here and now."

Darcy runs quickly towards and then out of the door. Stormy is still out of it and Ishandra signs to Gareth to remain quiet. A minute or two go by and suddenly Darcy blinks into the room with Miss Griffin and also M'Trika.

"What is so important and urgent that demands my presence?" Miss Griffin asks Ishandra crossly.

Without answering Miss Griffin, Ishandra turns to me and asks me yet again, "Where did you learn that?"

"Learn what?" I reply, getting miffed at being asked a second time. "If you would please tell me what it is that I am supposed to have learned then maybe I could tell you," and this time it is Miss Griffin and Ishandra who look at me and each other in total disbelief.

"You're right, Ishandra," says Miss Griffin, "she does speak it."

I am now becoming afraid and wondering what is going on when Miss Griffin takes a seat beside me and then, taking my hands gently, she softly asks, "Tell us the truth, Mansha. How do you come to know this language?"

"What language?" I ask, feeling really antsy and now frightened sitting in front and being interrogated by The Grand Lady of Cloud Tower. "Am I not speaking Witchspeak or English?"

"You are speaking neither English nor Witchspeak as such," says Miss Griffin, "but in Ancient Witchspeak and in a form so ancient that it comes down to us only through ancient manuscripts. It has been almost two hundred millennia since it was a living, spoken language. Those who have any knowledge of it do so through decades of dedicated study and then understand only a fraction of it because the true meaning of so many words has been lost to us through the mists of time. So I must ask you again because we have to know. Why is it now that you speak fluent Ancient Witchspeak as if it were your mother tongue?"

"I don't know!" I choke, bursting into tears. "Maybe through M'Trika's interpreter spell," but M'Trika shakes her head indicating the negative.

Miss Griffin takes a deep breath and then notices Stormy who is still out of it. "What happened between you and Stormy?" she asks me. So I spill it all out to her. I tell her about Stormy touching me and the deafening crack of thunder in my head, about dreaming about the strange Leopard Lady who is I in the future, about the voice telling me that she is Cloud Tower, about the great danger facing all of Alfea and my mission to unite Witches and Faeries to face and fight off this great danger and, finally, how Cloud Tower told me that I am to be her oracle and that of the Goddess.

Miss Griffin is looking at me coldly and seriously. "Yes," I tell her, my voice nearly breaking and in fear, "I know it sounds like the ravings of someone gone mad but I swear that is the truth."

"Yes, it truly sounds like some mad person's ranting but it is your sudden and fluent acquisition of Ancient Witchspeak that confirms to me that it is the truth," says Miss Griffin seriously then looking at Ishandra and M'Trika who nod in affirmation. "Mansha, I have to order you to extend your stay at Cloud Tower indefinitely."


	18. Icy

**Day 21 : Icy**

/* This chapter has been transcribed from what Ælfscine has dictated to me, therefore, I accept responsibility for any and all errors and omissions.

Ælfstangard */

It has been almost three weeks since my last séance with Cloud Tower. I have been personalizing my chamber at Cloud Tower in preparation for a long stay and have started taking classes. But, because neither M'Trika's spell nor Cloud Tower's gift to me of language cover the written forms of either Witchspeak or Ancient Witchspeak, Ishandra is tutoring me in learning to read both so my class notes are now written in a glorious mixture of these two languages and English. What is disconcerting though, is that Mieze and Matchka still insist on locking me in my chamber every night "for my own safety and protection".

Tonight, I am suddenly jolted out of deep sleep when I feel the floor and my bed trembling. "An earthquake?" I'm thinking and beginning to panic, not knowing what to do. Then I hear the unmistakable voice of Cloud Tower in my head.

"Get to Ishandra," she says urgently in my mind. "Icy's back and Ishandra's in grave danger!"

"But, I'm locked in here!" I protest to her. "How can I get out?"

"Push the door!" she orders, "it's unlocked."

I am out of my chamber and running down the long halls towards Ishandra's chamber. Cloud Tower's shaking must have been felt by all because everyone is coming out of their chambers and standing in the hallways. I barge past them, turn down a corridor and run smack into Mieze and Matchka.

Mieze grabs me firmly by my arm and turns me about. "What are you doing here and how did you get out of your chamber?" she ask in a gruff and angered voice.

"Icy's back!" I tell her. "Mieze, let me go! Ishandra's in danger!"

Both Cat-Witch guards look at each other and me confused. "You can't stay here," says Mieze. "We'll escort you back to your chamber."

"No!" I urgently cry to them. "I have to get to Ishandra! She needs me!"

Mieze and Matchka have me each by one arm and are determined to drag me back and lock me in my chamber with or without my cooperation and despite my loud protest when we hear M'Trika's voice from behind us.

"What's going on?" she asks us.

"Icy's back," I tell her. "Ishandra's in danger and I have to get to her!"

"Who told you this?" ask M'Trika.

"Cloud Tower," I tell her.

M'Trika pauses for a few seconds then says, "Go! Matchka, Mieze escort her and clear the way."

Matchka is the first to get to Ishandra's door and thinking it to be locked kicks it hard and it flies open hitting the wall behind it with a loud bang. I rush into the room and see Darcy and Stormy sitting bolt upright in their beds. I don't bother to explain. I turn and see Ishandra there in her bed in what seems like peaceful slumber.

"Spirit light," I shout and, suddenly, a horrid mockery of a woman's body is visible floating over Ishandra with tendrils from her trying to penetrate Ishandra's body without success.

Darcy stands steadfast but in shock, others gasp but Stormy shrieks and hides her face in Darcy's shoulder.

"Ishandra! Wake up!" I shout at her but to no avail. "Ishandra!" I shout again without a response from her.

Stormy rallies and releases a mild bolt of lightning hitting Ishandra. Ishandra's eyes fly open and, finding herself face to face with this floating horror, shrieks in terror loud enough and high enough to shatter glass and shake Cloud Tower to her foundations. But she moves out of the way and this is what I needed her to do.

"Blast her!" shouts Cloud Tower in my mind.

I hold my open palms towards the apparition which is Icy in her true form and scream at her in Ancient Witchspeak, "Eia-i-isha, mezalokea qaq!" which translated means, "Icy, be gone!" and from my palms bursts a sustained shaft of white light that hits Icy dead centre. But the light is a huge drain on my energy and I feel myself faltering.

"Keep it up!" I hear both Cloud Tower and Miss Griffin shouting to me so I take a deep breath and blast Icy once more whereupon she shrieks then vanishes through the walls. I feel my legs about to give out from under me but Mieze grabs me about the waist, supporting me and preventing me from crumpling onto the floor.

Meanwhile, Gareth has made it to Ishandra's chamber and pushes his way through the crowd blocking the doorway. "Gareth!" cries Ishandra, running to him and to his arms crying and still shaking in fear while others stand about dazed and not believing what has just transpired.

For almost a minute there is nothing to be heard but the sound of breathing and Ishandra sobbing. "There are some changes that need to be made," says Miss Griffin. She points a finger at me and a silver gorget with a blood-red jewel in centre forms about my neck. "This, Mansha," she tells me, "is your badge of office as the Oracle of Cloud Tower. It allows you free access to any part of Cloud Tower and is a signal to all that any orders you give in the line of duty are to be followed without question – or face me and the dire consequences of disobedience," she adds in not so friendly terms.

Miss Griffin next turns her attention to Gareth and Ishandra. "You!" she says to Gareth. "In these few short weeks you have managed to turn everything in Cloud Tower backwards and upside-down!" and Gareth and Ishandra cringe in each other's arms. "Well, it seems that your presence is protecting Ishandra and helping to keep Icy at bay so I can't very well keep you apart but I also cannot let you two live together like this." She points a finger at both Gareth and Ishandra and matching pairs of earrings appear on their ears. Ishandra sees the earrings on Gareth ears and reaching and feeling earrings on her ears bursts into tears once more and buries her face in Gareth's shoulder while Gareth looks confused about this development and Ishandra's reaction.

"You're married, you dolt!" laughs Lupa at Gareth. "Miss Griffin has just made it official. And congratulations, Ishandra! Gareth is a wonderful catch – even if he is a bit slow upstairs," and everyone expresses her well wishes as Ishandra looks into Gareth's face with soft light bright in her brown eyes.

"Mansha," says Miss Griffin. "You will be moving in with Darcy and Stormy and you, Ishandra and Gareth will have the chamber across the way," but Stormy does not seem pleased with this arrangement.

"I'm not a threat to your bond with Ishandra nor am I seeking to break up your trix, Stormy," I tell her. "But for Ishandra's protection, this arrangement is for the best."

"And besides," says Darcy to Stormy with a wicked grin, "if you are a good girl and behave, Ishandra might even share him with you," and there is a loud burst of laughter all around.

"This has been an eventful night so now it is time for everyone to retire to her chamber," says Miss Griffin, making it more an order than a request.

"Isn't there a chance that Icy might come back," I ask Miss Griffin, while Mieze and Matchka are looking at me still confused.

"Not too likely tonight," replies Miss Griffin. "You gave Icy a pretty sound licking when she didn't expect it. She'll be thinking twice about coming back tonight or any time soon."

"True," echoes Cloud Tower in my mind, "but sooner rather than later you will have to face Icy in an all out battle and drive her back to the Black Abyss and seal her there forever."

"Well," says Lupa who is walking back to my chamber with me, "this has been an eventful night but with a happy ending. You sent the evil spirit of Icy packing and saved the day. You are now the Oracle of Cloud Tower. And then there has been a wedding in which the bwide is bootiful, the gwoom is handsome. She wuvs him, he wuvs her and now they are woman and man – it's all sooo womantic!" and then looking upwards adds, "and thank the Goddess that's over! Now, when do we eat, drink and make merry?"

"Lupa!" I scold but Lupa gives me her comical and wolfish grin and then we are both laughing.

The End


End file.
